


Apostasia

by LucreziaJames



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crime mystery, Drama, F/M, Infidelity, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucreziaJames/pseuds/LucreziaJames
Summary: Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had soared through the ranks of the Auror Division to take over as lead investigators.  When the Ministry receive intelligence suggesting that one of the highest ranked Death Eaters is not dead but living in France, Head Auror, Harry Potter puts his best agents on the case.  But what happens when Draco and Hermione start to realise their might be more to their close relationship than just a working partnership?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: This story is called Apostasia which is a Greek word from which we get the word apostate, which means a person who renounces a religious or political belief or principle and has connotations of disloyalty. This story is about infidelity and is rated M for a reason. But it isn't just a story about how Draco and Hermione end up together because they are cheating on their spouses for no other reason than to be bad spouses, it's about more than that, which is why I didn't give the story the title Unfaithful. It's not just about Draco and Hermione, it's about their working relationship and the relationships they have with their spouses and the fallout of their affair. If this doesn't sound like the sort of story you want to read or you have issues with the topic of infidelity, please stop reading now. This will be the only author note I write because I want to tell a story that has twists and turns not a story where you already know what's going to happen because you read the summary in the author note. That said, if you do stick around for the ride, know that I am thankful to have you on board. LJ x

**London**

**September 2008**

 

Hermione’s new kitten heels clicked along the highly polished stone surface of the corridor as she made her way to the office she shared with her partner, two steaming cups of coffee in her left hand, her right wrist threaded through the handle of her soft leather briefcase.  She smiled warmly at various members of the team of aurors who worked in the main office as she strode purposefully towards the door with her name plate just above that of her partners.  

 

It always gave her a sense of smug satisfaction to see her name above that of Draco Malfoy, however he was always quick to point out that the rationale for this was most likely alphabetical, not superiority.

 

“Morning, Malfoy,” she greeted, handing him his usual black Americano, taking the pastry that he offered her in return with thanks.  She couldn’t recall now how their morning ritual had come about but it was as much a part of her morning routine now as her 38 degree shower upon rising at six fifteen or her twenty two minute tube journey from the apartment she and her husband, Ron Weasley, owned in Tower Hill, to the hidden entrance to the Ministry, located in Covent Garden.

 

Draco took a sip of his coffee as Hermione settled into her desk.  “I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” he told her as she started to remove her files from her briefcase.  She looked up at him, confused.  “Oh?”

“Briefing has been pushed forward.  Potter said we should go up as soon as you got here,” he informed her rising from his desk.  Hermione sighed, gathering her files as Draco shrugged on his jacket, holding the door open for her.

 

It hadn’t been easy for either of them when they had first been assigned to work together, but Kingsley had insisted on Harry placing them together saying that no one else would work with an ex Death Eater and no one else would be able to put up with Draco’s shit.  

 

Harry hadn’t liked the idea.  In fact he had given it six weeks before one of them caved and resigned.  Hermione came the closest, even going so far as to fill in a transfer form, which she had then retracted immediately when she overheard Draco that same evening in The Leaky attempting to cash in on the wager he had with Blaise.    

 

Their working relationship had been tested to the absolute limits, as no doubt Astoria and Ron could attest to, having born witness to far more evenings than they cared to remember of Draco and Hermione ranting about the other.  

 

Then, six months after they had been assigned to work together, a muggle bomb had exploded in a cafe next door to The Leaky Cauldron.  Hermione had been caught in the blast as it tore through the pub.  Had Draco not been with her, and had he not been so adept at potions and magical healing, Hermione might not have survived.  Instantly realising that she had a rare magical blood disorder, he had apparated her straight to The Manor, rather than St Mungo’s, healing her wounds himself as she lay in the guest room of the south west wing, far away from the north east wing of The Manor which he had not stepped foot in since the day Hermione had been tortured on the floor of the drawing room there.

 

Hermione had been grateful beyond words and the fate of their partnership had been sealed:  From that moment on they had soared through the ranks of the Auror Division, taking over as lead investigators when Harry had been promoted to Head of the Auror Division.  It was now a toss up between both of them as to who would be the next Head of Magical Law Enforcement.  

 

* * *

 

Draco held the door of the conference room open as Hermione followed him in, their latest case files in her hand.  Sat at one end of the long mahogany table was Kingsley Shacklebolt, to his left sat Harry.  In front of them papers were strewn across the conference table, several boxes that Hermione recognised as coming from the Ministry archives, open next to the papers.

“Ah, my two best agents,” Kingsley greeted them, smiling as he gestured for them to sit.

“Sir,” Draco nodded, glancing at Hermione as they settled into their seats, who gave him a look that read:   _ “no,  I have no idea why he is here either.” _

 

Harry cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose.  “Okay, I’m going to be reassigning your cases…” he began, as he pushed two copies of a case file across the smooth surface of the table.

“What? We are right in the middle…” Hermione started, unable to control the shock that was apparent in her voice.

Harry held up a hand cutting her off.  “Ron and Susan are going to take over the Meirer case.  They had a tip come in while in Moscow last week.  That Wolfsberg case?” Harry glanced at Hermione who nodded.  “There might be a link.”

“Right, fine.  So you’re taking us off our case, what do you expect us to do?” Hermione hissed, her cheeks flushing.  It wasn’t that she didn’t think her husband was a competent Auror, this was about her pride: how could her best friend reassign her case to her husband?

 

Draco ignored the building tension, opening the file Harry had pushed across the desk.  Seeing the photo on the cover page, he bit back the bile that rose in the back of his throat.  “I thought this bastard was dead?” he asked, his words slicing through the tension as Hermione snapped her head around confused.

“We thought so too.  But intelligence suggests he may be in France,” Harry explained, twisting in his seat as the projector screen flashed up an image of a man in his fifties, his long tresses and beard greying with age, sat at a bistro table outside a cafe in Paris.  Several shots had been taken, the projector moving through each still like a disjointed and awkward film.  The man was leaning across the table, talking to a woman whose face was hidden from view.  Something about her twenties style bob felt familiar to Draco as he watched her fingers go to her lips, cigarette in hand, as she took a drag.  

“Shit,” Hermione gasped as the woman turned slightly, enough for her to instantly recognise her.  “That’s Pansy.”

 

Draco glared at Harry.  “Why is Parkinson meeting with that vile bastard?” he hissed, watching as Harry shrugged.  “We have no idea.  All we know is that we need to bring him in.”

“And that’s why you are reassigning our case is it?” Draco challenged, anger rising in his chest.  “Don’t you think that presents us with a conflict of interest, Potter?”

Harry matched the glare Draco shot him with one of his own.  “I don’t care if it does, Malfoy.  That depraved bastard needs to be brought to justice and I need my best agents on this.”

 

Harry removed his glasses, sighing heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding to change tactic.

“Send Ron,” Draco spat, rising from his chair, shoving it back roughly.

“Malfoy, I can’t send Ron,” Harry snapped, his temper rising.

 

Hermione shot Kingsley a look, silently begging him to interject.  He smiled back at her, knowing it was useless to try and step into an argument between Harry and Draco.  It seemed that some rivalries would never be forgotten.

“You have skills for this that no one else does,” Harry yelled as Draco’s hand pulled down on the door handle.  

Draco spun around.  “So you think you can manipulate me into accepting this case, Potter? That’s a bit low for ‘The Chosen One’,” he sneered as his lip curled up menacingly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Hermione’s voice broke through their angry words, three pairs of eyes falling on her immediately.

 

Draco searched her eyes.  “So you think this is okay, Granger? He is sending me, and I might add you, into the Wolves Den to retrieve a member of my family.”  He could not believe after all they had gone through she would still side with Potter over him.

“I don’t like it either, Malfoy, but Harry is right.  You have skills we do not; you know Rabastan better than any of the rest of us.”

“Fuck this,” Draco yelled, exasperated, storming from the conference room.

 

* * *

  
  


Several hours later, Hermione pushed open the door to their office, two sandwiches in her hand.  Draco was sat at his desk writing reports, pointedly ignoring Hermione as she placed the sandwich next to him.  Hermione rolled her eyes as he grunted his thanks.

 

“Talk to me,” she said simply, as she settled into the chair opposite his desk.  Draco continued to write, ignoring her as she opened her sandwich packet.  Finally he chucked his pen to one side, anger in his eyes as they locked with hers.   

“What do you want me to say, Granger?” he asked, his voice rising with his temper.  “It’s typical bloody Potter and typical bloody you,” he spat, shoving his chair back roughly as he stood.  

 

Hermione’s eyes widened.  “Me? What about me?”

Draco slammed his palm down on the desk causing Hermione to jump.  It had been so long since they had fought that she had forgotten how he could affect her so much.  Chucking her uneaten sandwich on his desk, she rose to her feet.

“You don’t intimidate me any more, Malfoy, I am your partner…” she began, her cheeks flushing.

 

Draco pointed a finger at her menacingly.  “Yes, yes you are my partner,” he snapped.  “You should have my back in there,” he gestured vaguely with his hand as he spun around to face the bookcase, hands going to his hair and tugging at his locks that had darkened slightly with age to an ash blond.  

“I do have your back,” Hermione yelled.  “When it counts, I always have your back.”

“Except with Potter,” Draco retorted, turning to face her.

 

Hermione let out a wry laugh.  “Merlin, Malfoy, aren’t you a little old for jealousy? Isn’t it about time you let go…”

“This isn’t about fucking jealousy, Granger.  Fuck, how can you not see the way he is abusing his power?  He’s assigned our case to a lesser agent…”

Hermione raised her hand so quick that he didn’t see the slap coming until he felt her palm connected with his cheek.  “That’s my husband you are bad mouthing,” she hissed, eyes flashing with fury.  Draco glared down at her as he leaned in dangerously.

“Do not do that again,” he warned her, his voice so low it vibrated through Hermione as his hot breath ghosted her face.

 

Hermione shut her eyes taking in a steadying breath.  As she opened them, she felt Draco move past her.

“Where are you going?” Hermione cried as he opened the office door, the two of them pretending not to notice the way the other agents scrambled to their desks in a vain attempt to look like they hadn’t all been listening just outside the door.

 

“Home.  I’ll leave you and Potter to sort this shit out,” he called over his shoulder before slamming the door so hard it shook the whole office.

 

Hermione fell into the chair, her elbows resting on the table as she dropped her head into her hands, trying to ignore the tingling that told her she had felt more alive in those last ten minutes than she had in more years than she cared to remember.

 

* * *

  
  


Hearing the floo roar to life, Astoria Malfoy strode gracefully from the blue drawing room into the hallway, her ridiculously tall stilettos clicking against the pristine marble flooring as she fiddled with her tennis bracelet on her left wrist.

 

As she rounded the corner into the wide atrium, she was shocked to see her husband begin his ascent of the staircase two steps at a time.

“Draco?” she called, rushing after him as he strode down the hall in the direction of the master suite.

“Draco!” she called again as she pushed the door to their bedroom open, hearing him turn on the shower.  Crossing the threshold of the bathroom, confusion marring her features, she approached him quietly.  

 

He had discarded his jacket in the bedroom, shoving his sleeves up to his elbows roughly, his tie loosened.  Pressing his forehead to the cool mirror, eyes closed, he tried to ignore his wife as she entered the bathroom.  He felt her small hand close around the top of his bicep, his eyes snapping open.  Turning slightly, he peered at her over his arm, seeing the confused look in her eyes as she searched his.  

 

Suddenly he reached out, pulling her in hungrily, his lips finding hers as his tongue pushed into her mouth.  Astoria pulled back.  “Merlin, Draco! What’s got into you?” she cried a little startled by his sudden action.  Theirs was a typical pureblood marriage, filled with enough respect, love and companionship to ensure a successful union, but lacking in passion.  They had sex like clockwork, on a Friday night at ten o’clock.  Astoria was therefore not used to Draco coming home in the middle of the day, storming into the bathroom and then shoving his tongue down her throat.

 

“Nothing, Tori.  Is it so wrong that I want to fuck my own wife?” Draco asked, startling Astoria with his unexpected crudeness.

Suddenly her features softened as she reached out.  Whatever was the matter with her husband, maybe the answer was to make herself available to him.  He watched as her nimble fingers slipped inside the windsor knot of his tie.  She bit down on her lip slightly as she loosened it.  He watched the action, fascinated, as her lip fell from her teeth.  

“Do that again,” he whispered, smirking as she looked up at him confused.  “Bite your lip like you just did,” he instructed, unsure as to why he was asking her to repeat such a small, innocent action.

 

Astoria looked up at Draco coyly as her she dragged her teeth across her bottom lip slowly, growing aroused at the way Draco groaned.  Suddenly his hands were on her back pulling her close, as his lips crashed against hers.  He took her lip in his mouth, sucking gently before clamping his teeth down on the plump flesh, feeling Astoria shudder.  

 

They tore at each others clothes before stumbling into the shower, the hot water pulsing down on Draco’s back as he lowered his lips to Astoria’s breasts.  He took her hard nipple in his mouth as her fingers found their way into his hair.  Arching her back, she moaned as he swirled his tongue before sucking gently.  His fingers slipped inside her warm folds, slick with her arousal, his thumb caressing her clit as she bucked her hips.  She moaned deliciously as he slid two fingers inside her, crying out his name as she came undone from his ministrations.  

 

Lifting her up, he held her in place against the tiled wall as he positioned himself at her entrance.  He felt her shudder as he slid inside her, burying himself to the hilt as the water cascaded between their bodies, the spray pulsing directly on Astoria’s clit as she held herself open, Draco watching with rapt fascination as he slid in and out of his wife.  It was the most erotic sight he had ever seen.

Tearing his eyes from where they joined, he found hers as he pounded her against the tiles, reducing her to an incoherent babbling mess.   He closed his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of her around his length. Suddenly she arched her back, crying out his name, her walls tightening around him, pulling him over the edge with her.  As he opened his eyes, his mind filled with images of another woman.  He bit down on his lip hard, barely able to stop her name falling from his lips instead of his wife’s.

 

Spent, they slid down until they hit the base of the shower, Astoria pressing open kisses to Draco’s flesh as the water continued to pour down on them.  Giggling quietly, she sucked his earlobe into his mouth as he tried not to think about what had just happened.     
“That was amazing,” she whispered, before standing and stepping from the shower.  Grabbing her wand, she dried herself off before fixing her hair, make-up and clothes as Draco watched stunned as she blew him a kiss before leaving the bathroom.

 

Pulling himself up, he grabbed his shower gel, squirting some into his hand, lathering it up against his skin as he struggled to process what the hell had transpired just moments before.  He knew fantasies were the sign of a normal, healthy, adult brain.  But the last person he ever expected to picture in  _ that _ moment, was Hermione Granger.  Yes, they were close, he thought as he scrubbed his arms roughly.  Yes, she drove him insane at times.   _ Intellectually _ , he chastised himself as his cock twitched.  Yes, he had to admit, he considered as he scrubbed his abdomen, she had certainly grown into an attractive woman.  But he couldn’t possibly be sexually attracted to her, he told himself as his hand slid down his length, his mind drifting to thoughts of her once more, picturing the way she threw her head back when she laughed heartily, imagining her throwing her head back in ecstasy as he pumped his erection.  

  
No, he told himself as the water washed away his second orgasm.  He couldn’t possibly be sexually attracted to Hermione Granger.  

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Paris**

**September 2008**

 

“Eat something,” Draco instructed, nudging her with a force that was somewhere between gentle and rough.

“I’m not hungry,” Hermione insisted, her eyes remaining focused on the cafe in the street below, her peripheral vision keeping check of Draco as he moved from his seat beside her, crossing the rented apartment to the kitchenette.

“You’ve been sat at that window for the last seven hours straight.  Eat something.”  Draco opened the fridge, leaning in before shutting it again huffing wearily.  “You need to buy groceries,” he commented casually as he started opening and closing cupboards.

 

Hermione screwed up her face, her eyes remaining fixed on the street below.  “Since you are quite clearly bored, why don’t you go and buy groceries,” she retorted, her tolerance level for her partners' stupidity rapidly plummeting.

Draco scoffed.  “Please, I don’t buy groceries,” he told her, grabbing an apple from the bowl of fruit on the island before jumping into the chair beside her as he bit into the apple next to her ear with a loud crunch.

 

The scowl on Hermione’s face deepened causing Draco to grin as he took another noisy bite.  “I thought it was me you wanted to eat?” Hermione hissed, leaning away from him.

“Please, Granger, I am a married man!” Draco replied, laughing at her accidental double entendre.

Hermione pulled a cushion out from behind her back, smacking him repeatedly with it.  “Would you please, just for once, focus,” she yelled as Draco laughed, allowing her to rain blows down on him for a minute before yanking the cushion from her delicate hands with such force she toppled into his lap.

“I thought you weren’t hungry?” he smirked, raising an eyebrow at her suggestively.

“Grow up,” Hermione hissed, pulling herself upright, smoothing down her hair as a blush crept across her cheeks.

 

“You should be focusing,” she chastised him as she settled back into her watchful position.

“Perlease, I am the epitome of focus, it’s what makes me such an excellent Auror,” he exaggerated as he took another bite of his apple.

“No, me picking up the slack is what makes you a passable aurora,” Hermione muttered sarcastically.  

Draco’s jaw went slack. “Take that back!”

Hermione smirked at him.  “No.  We are the best team because of me, not you…” he words trailed off as she caught the look in his eye, the apple dropping forgotten from his hand as he reached for his wand.

“Shit,” Hermione cursed as she reached for her own.

 

* * *

 

Panting, gripping her wand tight in her hand, she ducked behind the parked car, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to get her breath back.   Twisting her head around to her right at the sound of rapid footsteps, she was relieved to see Draco by her side throwing hexes across the street.  He dropped down, eyes still focused ahead, wand in his left hand, his right grabbing onto Hermione’s shoulder.  “Are you alright?” he asked, glancing down at her, his face creased and lined with deep concern.  Before Hermione could answer, his eyes snapped back across the road, widening suddenly as he screamed: “Get down,” as he threw himself bodily over Hermione, her head colliding with the curb as an explosion tore through the street, setting the car alight.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his hand going to her forehead that was now bleeding, as he pulled her close.  Throwing hexes in every direction, he half carried, half dragged the unconscious form of Hermione into a side alley, apparating them back to the apartment.

 

* * *

  
  


Hermione groaned as her eyes fluttered open, the throbbing behind her eyes almost too much to bare.  She turned her head slightly, feeling the mattress underneath her dip and sag.  

“Fucking hell, Granger, you scared the shit out of me for a bit back there,” Draco grumbled as he stopped her from sitting up.  “You have concussion, you need to rest,” he instructed as she glared at him before succumbing to his insistence, his hands forcing her back into the pillows.

 

She closed her eyes listening to his movements about the room, hearing him reach the door, her eyes snapped open as she turned her head.  “You’re not leaving me, are you?” she questioned, eyes searching his.  He held her gaze for a moment before shaking his head.  “I’m just making you some tea,” he told her quietly, watching her nod and close her eyes once more.

 

Quietly, Draco pulled the door shut, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in as the door clicked softly.  He carded a hand through his hair as he padded towards the kitchenette, filling the kettle numbly before shoving it onto the stove.  He was so conditioned to her patterns now, he thought wryly as he waited for the water to boil.  She had this ludicrous notion that tea tasted better when the water was brought to the boil on the stove rather than by using an electric kettle.  He knew exactly how she liked her tea, every blend that suited every nuance of her moods, and exactly how she liked it prepared.  He could do it on autopilot.  But that was what made them great partners right? They knew each other as intimately as their spouses.  He screwed his nose up at that thought, something akin to jealousy rising in his chest and clamping around his heart.  Did Weasley know how she liked her tea? Did he know that when she was tired she preferred Camomile, but that if she had been working late on a case she would add rosehip to the blend? Did he know that when she was researching, Earl Grey kept her focused, but that she would add lemon balm if it was the winter to stave off a cold?

 

It wasn’t just tea, there were a million and one things they knew intimately about one another.  But maybe it was just them, he considered as his gaze drifted from the tea leaves he didn’t remember picking up, to the closed door of the bedroom; the only one in use.  It was an unspoken agreement from their second mission together.  As far as whoever looked at the Ministry expenses were concerned, they always had two bedroom apartments and double hotel suites.  The second mission had been particularly hard on Hermione.  Sent to Hungary, they had been tracking Death Eater sympathisers.  Neither of them had expected to run into Dolohov.  After the third night of breaking down the hotel room after Hermione’s screams had woken him, he had climbed into bed with her and the screaming had stopped.  Every mission had been the same since.  Two hotel rooms, two beds, only one used.  

 

It had been the logical, practical solution, they had both privately reasoned, accepting the unspoken arrangement and the equally unspoken agreement to not discuss it with anyone else.  Neither Ron nor Astoria would understand why they shared a bed, and neither would accept that nothing had happened.  

 

Nothing had happened, Draco mused to himself dryly.  Except that something had changed.  Not for Granger, no, he considered as he remembered her earlier question. But something had changed and she could sense it, otherwise, she wouldn’t be asking if he planned to leave her alone.  How could she question that? He thought, a sudden surge of anger flowing through his veins.  I’m her partner, I always have her back, he thought as he moodily spooned the leaves into the teapot.  

 

Because she caught the way you were looking at her the other day, a nagging voice at the back of his mind told him.  Pouring the water into the teapot, he pushed the voice away to the furthest reaches of his mind. 

 

Hermione was already asleep when he came back into the room, placing the tea on the nightstand.  Draco’s face was a picture of the deep concern he felt as he brushed his knuckles across the bandage on her head.  Hearing her whimper slightly, he pulled his hand away, padding out into the lounge.  When he returned a few minutes later, he went to the other side of the bed and climbed on top of the covers.  Hermione turned over in her sleep, curling her body into him as he stared down at her briefly before turning his attentions to the report in his hand, anger rising in his chest once more.

 

He couldn’t believe Potter had sent them into what had amounted to an ambush with almost no intelligence.  Draco rubbed his forehead in the vain hope of staving off the migraine that was building.  Staring wearily at the form with tired eyes, he sighed, allowing his right hand to drop away from the page as he shut his eyes for a moment.

 

Screaming penetrated his mind, forcing him awake violently as Hermione thrashed frantically in the bed next to him.  At some point, he had fallen asleep on top of the covers, the report falling to the floor forgotten.  Hermione was clawing at him desperately as he climbed on top of her, pinning her wrists in an effort to still her movements.  

 

As she fought his dominance, she lashed out like a wild animal, tearing his shirt open.  

“Fucking hell, Granger,” Draco growled as he used more force than ever before to subdue her.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hermione stilled her movements, her screaming turning into sobs as Draco dropped onto his side, tugging her into his body.  He wrapped his arms around her tight, experience telling him that she needed tight pressure over her.  “To help suppress her central nervous system,” Draco had read in one of Hermione’s journals.

 

Hermione’s sobs slowed to whimpers as her frantic heart rate slowed.  Eventually, she calmed, her eyelids fluttering open as she woke.  Turning over in his arms, she looked up into his eyes as he stared down into hers.

“I fucking knew this would happen,” he muttered softly, no malice or anger in his voice, only the deep concern he felt for her.  

“Don’t,” Hermione reprimanded, not wanting yet another fight about the line of duty and insubordination.

“I came, didn’t I? Even though Potter backed us into a corner from which the only path out involved my resignation, I came,” he muttered, closing his eyes as he felt her hot breath ghost across his neck as he continued to hold her.   He felt her cheeks flush with the impact of his words.

“I have your back, Granger.  I always do,” he muttered into her hair as she dipped her head to his collarbone. 

 

Feeling his skin, she nuzzled slightly against him, shifting in his arms.  Suddenly, she lifted up as Draco rolled onto his back.  “Did I do this?” she whispered, brushing the palm of her hand down his torn shirt, shock apparent on her face. 

“It’s only a shirt.  I have plenty,” he told her flashing her a smile she couldn’t quite read as her hands caressed the contours of his chest, her fingers trailing slowly along the ridges of his scar.  He watched her curious eyes, awash with emotion laced with what he presumed to be akin to nostalgia.

“Septumsempra,” she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.  

 

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding as Hermione settled back down next to him.  They had spent countless nights together in bed but up until this moment, there had always been layers of fabric between them, bound in words unsaid.  Her cheek rested against his chest as she continued her ministrations, exploring.  Draco said nothing, his mind reeling at the way her touch set his skin alight, making him feel like he was falling and flying at the same time.  Her hand stilled, but he didn’t dare move or make a sound, inexplicably frightened he would break the spell of whatever it was she was doing to him; doing to them both.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**London**

**October 2008**

Hermione twisted around in her seat, throwing Draco a look that said, "Seriously, sit down," as she gestured with a nod to the chair beside her. Huffing, Draco rolled his eyes as he pushed himself away from the wall where he had been stood, casually flipping through the intelligence file, periodically looking up to glare across the room at Harry.

It had been a week since they had returned from Paris empty handed, the team physician ruling that Hermione was to be sworn off active duty for two weeks due to her concussion despite her protestations that she was fine.

Intelligence coming into the Ministry suggested that Rabastan had gone to ground in Rome under the protection of a wealthy aristocrat with ties to the Italian Ministry. Draco folded his arms, contempt radiating from him as Harry went through the briefing, standing beside the projector at the back of the darkened room.

"Will you stop that," Hermione hissed as she glanced sidelong at Draco, half listening to Harry as he detailed the background of Enzo Bianco, the brother in law of the Italian Minister of Magic.

"Stop what?" Draco hissed his retort, narrowing his eyes at her with such intensity that Hermione could feel the hairs on her neck prick.

"Brooding. If all you ever do is alternate between shouting you head off and sulking like a petulant child, he is never going to listen to you," Hermione muttered, her eyes fixed on the screen refusing to meet his. She watched as the slides changed from pictures of Enzo Bianco outside the Ministry to pictures of an art gallery in Via delle Quattro Fontane.

Draco bit back the retort that formed on his razor sharp tongue, his jaw setting firmly. For a moment he continued to stare at Hermione, his face contorted in a mix of disbelief and anger. Finally, he turned his attention to the screen as Harry started to explain his plan.

"The charity gala will be attended by everyone and anyone of significance in Italian high society. Muggle and magical. Draco you will take a back seat on this, you will need to be her eyes and ears," Harry informed him as he shut off the projector and turned the lights back on.

"What?" Draco asked, trying to keep the incredulity he felt out of his voice as he confirmed what he thought he had heard.

"Have you listened to a word I said?" Harry snapped, holding the case file out towards Draco. Huffing when Draco didn't take it from him, he held it out for Hermione to take instead.

"I try not to, but unfortunately some of it still bleeds through," he drawled sarcastically as Hermione nudged him painfully with her elbow.

"Look, I know this case has been particularly difficult for you, but I will only let so much of your insubordination slide, Malfoy. Good agent or not, you need to understand that without respect of fellow officers and superiors, you may find yourself being passed over for promotion."

"Is that a threat?" Draco sneered, his lip curling up in a way that sent Hermione tumbling back through time until she was stood in front of a thirteen year old version of Draco, bullying her and her friends.

"Stop it," she reprimanded him, placing a hand on his forearm. Draco snatched his arm away as though her touch had burnt him, his eyes snapping to hers. Seeing the hurt in her eyes before she pushed it away in her mind, he felt shame clench around his heart, his stomach knotting with regret.

Harry took his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Enough," he sighed. "Hermione, you know what you need to do. I'm relying on you both for this, try not to let me down," Harry finished, dismissing them from the briefing.

Hermione gathered her things, trying to keep her emotions in check as she avoided making eye contact with Draco. Silently, they made their way from the room, Hermione's kitten heels clicking along the stone floor as they headed for the elevator. Draco glanced at her as he pressed the button for their floor, sighing when she refused to look at him as he stepped back beside her. Neither said a word as they entered their office, Hermione slamming the heavy case files down on her desk as Draco shut the door, throwing up some complex silencing charms as he braced himself for an argument that he did not want their less than discreet colleagues to overhear.

"We need to talk," Draco began as Hermione dug out her laptop from her bag.

"No, we or rather I, need to make travel arrangements for our mission to Rome. We are heading into the muggle world for this mission so I have to sort things out," she informed him curtly, powering up the device, clicking the magic dampener into the USB port that the tech team had developed when the Ministry had started incorporating muggle technology into the MLE. The device was still a prototype so only a select few agents had them, Hermione being the first to be provided with one.

"Granger, we need to talk," he insisted, dropping into the chair opposite her desk as she tapped the keys angrily, her face beginning to flush.

"Okay, fine, since you want to talk, how about we talk about how you cannot stand to be touched by me," Hermione challenged, fury and hurt in her eyes.

"That's not true," Draco retorted, the denial falling from his lips before his brain could form something more of a reasoned argument.

Hermione scoffed in disbelief as she stroked the pad of her laptop to scroll through the lists of hotels. They would only be in Rome for a couple of days so it wouldn't be necessary to rent an apartment, therefore she was looking for something out the way that would go with their cover of being a young couple on honeymoon. She shuddered at the thought.

Draco caught the tremble, his face softening into concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to touch her, startled by the way she jerked back before his hand could make contact. Her rejection hurt.

"Just don't," Hermione snapped, glaring up at him as she continued to enter the details of their expense account.

"Granger.." Draco's voice was low as he watched her pointedly ignoring him.

"Hermione," he tried, his heart fluttering when she responded to the way he said her given name.

Hermione tried not to melt at the way her given name fell from his lips. He almost never called her anything other than the maiden name she continued to use at work. The velvet way he spoke it, laced with sincerity, jarred her. Her resolve faltered momentarily.

"Just tell me why," she replied, her voice quiet and full of pain.

Draco momentarily wondered if absolution was guaranteed for his confession; if somehow allowing the abstract feeling to become real by giving it a name would cleanse him. His mind tumbled through time until he was somewhere in that lost transition between childhood and manhood, in the garden of the Manor, talking with his mother. "No good can come of it," he heard his mother's voice in his mind whisper.

He schooled his features, retreating to the comforting familiarity of stoicism as Hermione slammed her laptop shut. "Even after all we have been through, there are times when you look at me and all you think of is this," Hermione cried, shoving up the left sleeve of her blouse. Draco screwed his eyes shut knowing what she was referring to. He took in several deep breaths in an attempt to stave off the threatening panic attack.

When he opened his eyes once more, Hermione was brushing away hot angry tears. "How can you say that? How can you even think that?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"Ever since Paris, you have gone out of your way to show me that my touch disgusts you," Hermione cried, backing away as Draco rose from his seat.

"That is not true," he told her, shaking his head.

Hermione shrugged. "I guess it should have been expected, that going after your uncle's brother would make you question your loyalties…"

"My loyalties?" Draco bellowed, incredulous. "What the actual fuck?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "My loyalties have always been to this team; to you!"

Hermione shook her head, taking another step back feeling the bookcase behind her. "Something has changed between us; the dynamic here," she gestured between them and he stepped up to her, his hot angry breath ghosting on her face, "has changed. Nothing has been the same since Paris. You barely look at me, you hardly speak to me and you cannot stand for me to touch you. I know you, Draco. I know you are not the most demonstrative of people, but things between us have been easy and natural for a long time, until Paris. So if not your loyalties, what has changed?" She looked up into his eyes, searching them for honesty.

He shook his head, turning away from her, afraid that she would reach his soul and find the answer to her question. He was in too deep, the feeling overwhelming him until he felt like he was drowning in the emotion; in her. His defenses kicked in, and for a moment he wondered if the simple solution would be to let her think she was right. But then she would tell Harry they could no longer work together and then who would she end up in Rome with, carrying out Harry's ill-conceived plan. He shook his head. How could he protect her if he wasn't her partner?

Hermione groaned with frustration, shoving him forcefully away. "Do what you like, Malfoy. Talk or don't talk, but I have things to do," she huffed as she started to grab her coat from the rack, yanking it on moodily before storming out of the office leaving Draco to assess his emotions.

* * *

It was late when Astoria entered Draco's study, coming to his side as he sat beside the fire, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, a bottle of firewhiskey in his right hand, crystal tumbler in his left. He sat transfixed by the flames that danced, not hearing her come in.

"Husband, is everything alright?" Astoria asked, gently touching his arm.

He had been sat in the chair since he had returned from work, the events of the day replaying on a loop in his mind as his inner Slytherin tried to calculate a way out of the predicament he found himself in. Vaguely he was aware of Astoria touching him, his eyes finding hers as she smiled down at him. He allowed her to take the bottle of firewhiskey from his hand, placing it down on the hearth, his eyes drawn to the way her dress hugged the curve of her pert bottom as she bent slightly. He was more than a little drunk, he knew, the alcohol fueling the desire that coiled tightly in his abdomen as he licked his lips hungrily.

Smiling, she approached him once more, standing between his legs as he sat slouched in the chair, her hand teasing the hair behind his ear as she leaned over him. He responded, tracing his fingers up her bare arm before losing them into her hair, pulling her in wordlessly. His fingers slid easily through her silky smooth straight hair, and something vaguely registered this feeling as _wrong._

Astoria pressed her lips to Draco's, feeling him part them with his tongue. He tasted of tobacco and firewhiskey, and she made a mental note to make a lunch appointment with his partner, Ms Granger. Her husband was not a smoker, except on the occasions when he had been fighting with her.

Dropping the tumbler to the floor, uncaring as it smashed on the hardwood floor, Draco slid his hand up Astoria's thigh, relishing in the way she moaned into the kiss as he grabbed her arse before pulling away, a mischievous glint in her eye as she dropped to her knees. Draco raised an eyebrow at his wife, knowing her previous lack of interest in the activity she was clearly proposing. He watched her with half lidded lust filled eyes as she held his gaze while her fingers made light work of releasing his now hardened length from the confines of his trousers.

Astoria licked her painted lips seductively, her hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, her thumb and forefinger curling in an O as she pulled the flesh taut. Keeping her eyes on Draco, she used the flat of her tongue to lick across the tip before swirling the tip of her tongue around the exposed glans, hearing him hiss as his hands gripped the arms of the chair. Pulling back slightly, she blew across the head, delighting in the way Draco moaned as his cock twitched appreciatively. Trailing the tip of her tongue down the length, she cupped his balls with her free hand, massaging gently. She brought her tongue back up, repeating the action as Draco's mouth feel open, an almost feral growl falling from his lips as she massaged his perineum.

Lifting her head, her quick fingers made light work of undoing the buttons of his Oxford as she deliberately pressed her breasts against Draco, feeling his hand dip inside the neckline of her dress, cupping her milky flesh, his fingers brushing against her hard nipple. Smiling, she removed his hand, lowering her head to press kisses down his torso, feeling him hard against her cheek, his hands in her hair, signaling his want.

Dragging her fingernails up his right thigh with her left hand, enjoying the way he reacted, she wrapped her right hand around his length once more, her open mouth hovering over him, teasingly. Suddenly he felt himself engulfed by hot wet heat as her mouth closed around his shaft, gently sucking in as she dragged the flat of her tongue up until he fell from her mouth.

Twice more she repeated the action as he writhed underneath her, spurring her on. On the third repetition, she moved her head as he fell from her lips, dragging her tongue along the dip between his hip and the lineation of his external obliques.

"Don't stop," she heard him hiss, the grip on her hair tightening deliciously. She smiled as she obeyed, her left hand cupping his balls once more, massaging and lightly pressing against the perineum as she massaged he cursed, his hips canting from the chair with the rhythm she set.

Draco tightened his grip on her hair, his mind still calling to him _wrong,_ as he tried to stop the images of _her_ filling his head. He bit down on his lip hard, tasting the faintly metallic taste of his blood as he exploded into Astoria's mouth, making every effort not to call out _her_ name.

Everything about what had just happened felt wrong, guilt twisting like a knife in his heart.

"Better?" Astoria asked, kissing Draco, grinning as he moaned, tasting himself on her. They might not have the most adventurous sex life, she knew, but he had his kinks like all men, and she had found them out, filing them away should the need to employ them arise.

Draco grunted his reply as Astoria trailed her hand along his arm as she left the room. "I'm going to bed, goodnight," she called over her shoulder as Draco accio'd another tumbler from the sideboard, leaning forward to retrieve the firewhiskey, knowing that Astoria had meant she had done her bit and he was to leave her to sleep. For his part, Draco had no intention of joining her in bed, as the matter in hand still had no resolution, he considered as he tucked himself away. All he did know was that he couldn't keep doing what he was doing to his wife.


	4. Chapter 4

**London**

**October 2008**

Hermione dropped her briefcase and laptop bag down beside the coffee table as she huffed loudly, dropping into the Laura Ashley armchair in her lounge. Ron looked up from the carton of chinese takeaway he was currently devouring while leant over the reports he had spread out over the surface.

"What's up with you?" he asked, stabbing his fork into his chow mein noodles.

"Nothing," she huffed, leaning forward and taking the carton from him, skewering the pieces of chicken moodily.

"Uh-oh, I know this mood. What's he done now?" Ron grinned, "and by the way, I got you fried beef with ginger and spring onion," he told her as she proceeded to finish his chow mein.

"I don't want beef," Hermione fumed pointedly ignoring Ron's question.

"But you always have the beef," Ron frowned, unpacking the containers.

"Well tonight I don't want beef," Hermione retorted, shrugging off her coat as Ron handed her a bottle of peach iced tea. "I don't want tea," she told him, kicking off her kitten heels, not caring that she was leaving them under the coffee table or the fact that she wasn't about to hang up her coat. She carried the carton over to the wine rack, pulling out a bottle of sauvignon blanc.

"Okay," Ron muttered, placing the bottle on the coffee table and opening the container of beef as Hermione uncorked the wine. "Are you going to tell me what you two are fighting about this time?" he asked distractedly as he skewered a piece of beef.

"Who says we are fighting?" Hermione frowned as she poured herself a large glass of wine, holding the bottle up as Ron glanced over at her.

"No thanks," Ron replied, shaking his head. "Your mood tells me you are fighting," Ron informed her, turning over a page of the report he was currently reading.

Hermione took a long sip of her wine, mulling over his words. "It's just…" she began, not really knowing where to begin. "Since Paris, everything has been off with him," she continued, padding into the lounge area.

"What do you mean by off?" Ron asked, chewing on a piece of beef as he read.

"Well like today, in the briefing, he was in such a mood," she explained, pausing to roll her eyes as Ron threw her an amused look.

"It's Malfoy, what do you expect?" he chuckled as she frowned at him.

"So I tried to calm him down and he snatched his arm away from me," she complained, narrowing her eyes as she remembered the way he had pulled away from her. Like her touch burnt him.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, love. It's Malfoy," he repeated.

Hermione glared at him. "How observant of you," she snarked, "care to enlighten me as to what your point is?"

Ron glanced up at her, shocked by the way she snapped sarcastically at him, Hermione instantly regretting the way the words had flown out of her mouth unchecked.

"My point being," he explained slowly, trying to keep his temper in check. "That he isn't like you or me or Harry. He doesn't show affection easily," Ron went back to his report. "The guys like a robot from one of your muggle shows."

Hermione's jaw slacked at his words. "He is not a robot. He has feelings Ron, just like you and me. How could you say something like that?" Hermione cried, unsure as to why exactly she appeared to be picking a fight with her husband over her partner.

Ron frowned at Hermione confused. "Okay, so he's not a robot. But the first part you have to admit is true," he insisted as Hermione started pacing, the grip on her wine glass increasing.

"You don't understand," she lamented. "Things between us have always been easy. Until Paris and now everything is screwed up and I don't know why," she complained, taking another sip of her wine.

Ron sat back, watching his wife rant. "What does it matter anyway? So Draco is being an arse. You knew he was when Kingsley made Harry partner you two up," Ron concluded.

"But that was then!" Hermione cried, frustrated. "Things have been different since then," she insisted, stopping herself before she explained why. How could she tell her husband that she shared a bed with her partner on missions? Ron of all people would never understand that there was nothing in it, that Draco only did it because she felt safer with him there; that the nightmares didn't come so frequently if he was there. Vaguely she was aware that wasn't necessarily healthy but she buried it deep down, choosing to ignore it. There was a reason why they had never actually discussed the fact that they shared a bed, it just sort of happened.

"I don't know what you want me to say Hermione, because I don't really understand what the problem is," Ron huffed returning his attention to his work.

Hermione shook her head. "Of course not. Like you didn't really understand what the issue was when Harry gave you my case," she muttered, padding over to where the wine bottle sat on the kitchen island.

Ron chucked his quill down on the coffee table. "Is that what this is really about? Because Susan and I were given your case? Is that why you have been in a bitchy mood for the last month?" Ron shouted, his temper getting the better of him.

Hermione slammed the bottle of wine down on the counter. "No: This is about the fact that you don't understand me or who I am, Ronald."

Ron's jaw slacked as shock set in with her words. "What the actual fuck?"

Hermione bit her lip, chastising herself inwardly that it was a bit too late to try and stop angry the words that now hung in the air between them from spilling from her mouth.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ron bellowed, his cheeks flushing.

Before Hermione could stop herself, the words poured forth breaking their dam. "Like tonight, with the dinner. You never think to ask what I actually want, you just go ahead and order it. And yes, you took my case, a case Draco and I had been working on for months. We could have brought you in on the investigation but no, Harry just gives you the case and you don't think about how I would feel having my own husband take a case like that from me. You don't think about how that might impact me or my desire for promotion. You never stop to consider me in anything you do. And then I come home and you push me to tell you what's going on with my partner and then you defend him, despite the fact that what he did hurt me: that it made me feel like this is all he sees, even now," Hermione shouted, tearing up her sleeve.

Ron staggered back as though every word had hit him like a bludger to the head. "That is just so…" Ron stuttered at a loss for words as Hermione angrily poured herself another glass of wine. "I can't even…" he started dropping back down into the couch. "I don't even know where to begin with all of that, Hermione. But as for the last part? That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," Ron told her, his eyes meeting hers across the room.

Hermione opened her mouth but Ron cut her off. "No, I'm sorry, Hermione, you can take out on me whatever the hell is going on between you, because I am your husband and that's part of what being your husband means. But that? No. That man has come into my home, Hermione. He has been here for dinner with his wife, he gets on with my sister so well she wants to name him Godfather to her child, and even though he pisses Harry off, he is quite fond of him too," Ron revealed, his words stunning Hermione into silence. "Do you honestly believe I would allow that man to come into my home, to come any where near my wife, if he still thought of you that way? Because I am telling you now Hermione, if that is the case, turn on that television and check the forecast for hell, because Satan himself would be giving ice skating lessons before I let him within a mile of my home never mind my wife."

Ron sat back, the colour and energy drained from him as Hermione put her glass down on the counter top. "Look, I get that, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he made me feel like that today, Ron, despite the fact that deep down I think you are probably right," she admitted quietly.

"I'm definitely right about this one," Ron told her, the intensity of the look he gave her making her uncomfortable.

"I cannot help how I feel," she blurted, her cheeks staining as Ron frowned at her, sensing her words were more about him than Draco.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked curtly as Hermione lifted her glass to her lips. She ignored the question as she took a sip. "You drift in and out of here like we are co-existing in the same space. You are gone for six months on a mission I know very little about, for a case I know only the highlights of…" she began.

"It's the nature of the job," Ron retorted, angered by words.

"You come home and expect me to be exactly how I was when you left, still wanting beef and ice tea on a Friday night and to be okay with the fact that the first thing you do is take my case," she complained.

"And we are back to that again," Ron sneered sarcastically. "Look, just tell me what the real issue is: did I bruise your ego? Hurt your pride? I wouldn't say I went as far as to sabotage your career but who knows what's going on in that head of yours?" he continued, angrily.

"Just stop it," Hermione told him, her anger boiling over.

"Why? You started this," he challenged, glaring at her across the room.

"How grown up of you," Hermione retorted scornfully. "I'm going to have a bath and then I think I will sleep in the spare room tonight," she snapped, striding out of the room before Ron could answer.

* * *

Hermione tossed and turned in the bed, trying to switch her mind off from the roaring white noise as she replayed the events of the day over and over in her mind. Finally she threw the covers off with a huff, dropping her legs over the edge of the bed, her toes curling into the plush carpet.

She padded out to the kitchen, standing on tip toes as she reached up into the cupboard to take out a glass. Turning on the tap, she let the water run for a moment before filling the glass as she pressed the back of her free hand to her mouth, yawning. Shutting off the tap, she lifted the glass to her parched lips, relishing in the way the cool libation quenched her thirst.

Rinsing out the glass before upending it on the drainer, she felt a hand on her shoulder, making her jump.

"Fucking hell, Ron, you scared the shit out of me," she hissed, looking up into his tired eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking the glass from the drainer and refilling it. Hermione watched his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped down the water, his eyes watching her. She lifted her gaze, meeting his, as he returned the glass to the drainer.

"I don't want to fight," she told him, her voice faltering slightly.

Ron sighed wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close, resting his chin on her head. "I don't want to fight either," he mumbled, dropping a kiss to her hair before rubbing his chin against her head once more.

"He's just so infuriating," Hermione mumbled into Ron's chest. Ron snorted in agreement.

"There are times when he makes it impossible for me to feel normal," she muttered, her forehead creasing into a frown.

Ron hummed his reply, not really sure how they had got back onto the subject of Draco Malfoy, but understanding that it was still weighing heavily on her mind and she needed to let it all out.

"I think I probably owe him an apology," she told Ron, pulling away from his embrace, moving towards the closet.

Ron frowned as he watched her. "What, now?"

"Yes, now!" Hermione told him, pulling her hair out from under the oversized jumper she had thrown on, slipping her trainers on her bed-sock clad feet.

"But it's half two in the morning," Ron replied with shocked confusion, watching her grab her wand from the coffee table.

"And I cannot sleep. I need to talk to him; to apologise," Hermione insisted, coming back to the kitchen area where Ron stood. "I need to do this," she whispered, pressing her palm to his chest and she leaned up to kiss him. He returned the kiss, frowning as she stepped back. "I won't be long," she told him before the crack sounded her departure.

Hermione frowned, her eyes scanning the study, tutting when they fell on the image of a dishevelled Draco asleep in the wingback chair by the fire. A bottle of firewhiskey was wedged between his right thigh and the side of the chair, the last embers of the fire bathing him in a gentle orange glow. His head lulled over to the left, resting on his left hand.

On the side table sat a crystal tumbler, and, Hermione noted, wrinkling her nose up in disgust, a crystal ashtray with several stubbed out cigarettes. Draco was not as a rule a smoker, however she knew from past experience that high levels of stress made him turn to the vice. Her mind tumbled back to a particularly difficult case in Romania last year when they had fought quite badly. Draco had shut himself out on the balcony of their hotel room with a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of muggle whiskey, refusing to talk to her.

Shaking the image from her mind, she leant forward, reaching for his arm. "Draco," she whispered.

"I'm not in the mood, Tori," he mumbled groggily, his face contorting into a scowl as he waved her away moodily, whisky laced breath ghosting across her face.

"Merlin, your drunk," Hermione commented, screwing up her nose at the smell.

Draco opened one eye, staring at her. "Great, now I'm having delusions," he mumbled, "Damned Ogden's," he complained, shifting in his seat. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"Drunk but not delusional," Hermione replied, smirking.

Draco dropped his hands from his face at her words, sniffing as he opened his eyes a little startled by her presence in his study.

"Hermione," he breathed, "What time is it?" Suddenly abstractly concerned he was late for work.

Hermione smiled, pressing her palm to his chest as he tried to stand. She pushed him back into the chair. "It's a little after two thirty," she told him quietly. Draco looked at her, his face awash with concern. "What's wrong, what's happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse, heart rate increasing.

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing's happened. I came here to apologise," she confessed as Draco's forehead creased with confusion.

"What for?" he mumbled as his heart rate slowed to a more steady rate.

Hermione flushed with embarrassment. "For the things I said; for what I accused you of," she whispered. She watched the emotions swim in his eyes unchecked as she felt his fingertips trail slowly up under her sleeve caressing her scar. Neither spoke as he pushed the sleeve up, Hermione's eyes on his as he brought her forearm up to his lips.

Feeling her heartbeat pounding hard in her chest, she held her breathe, transfixed by the moment as he closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to her scar, before turning his head and brushing his cheek over the cool flesh of her forearm. Every nerve in her body tingled as his caresses ignited a fire in her she did not know existed. Time seemed to drag out before finally he pulled her sleeve down, his large hand holding her smaller one as his free hand found its way into her curls.

Instinctively, Hermione closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

"How could you think that of me?" he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

Hermione opened her eyes, now swimming with tears. "You pulled away, like my touch burnt you," she whispered, pain in her voice. "If it's not that, then tell me why you detest my touch so much?"

"I don't detest it, Hermione: I long for it," Draco confessed, his voice so quiet Hermione almost didn't hear it. "I long for it so much that it hurts."

Hermione pulled back, shocked by his sudden revelation. She shook her head. "You're drunk," she told him, watching him shutter away his emotions, his defences coming up.

"I'm drunk, ignore me," he told her averting his eyes. "I'll see you at work."

Hermione nodded, her cheeks flushing once more, their eyes locking briefly before she apparated away.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding in, her hand coming up to her chest feeling her heart pounding from his words. He was just inebriated, she told herself, attempting to calm her mind down. It was just the firewhiskey talking. Right?


	5. Chapter 5

**Rome**

**October 2008**

Hermione opened her mouth, sliding the gloss across her bottom lip, before pressing her lips together as she stared into the mirror. She tumbled towards the sink as Draco pushed past her into the bathroom.

"Do you mind?" she glared at his reflection as he went to push past her once more.

Draco met her eyes in the mirror, his expression dark. "This is a bad idea," he snapped.

Hermione pursed her lips as his eyes continued to bore like a laser into the mirror as neither said a word, the air in the bathroom thickening with tension. Finally, Hermione broke the intense eye contact, reaching into her makeup bag for her eyeliner with a huff.

Ignoring the way he continued to stare at her in the mirror she drew the kohl across her left eyelid. Her eyes flickered to Draco who was now standing leaning against the bathroom wall, arms folded across his chest. She could feel the heat of his anger radiating from every pore, making the hairs on the back of her neck, exposed by her French twist, bristle.

Her nose crinkled as she glared at Draco in the mirror. "If you're going to do that, at least do it outside," she snapped angrily as Draco pulled the lighter back from his cigarette. His smouldering eyes met hers, the cigarette end glowing, as he took a long drag.

Wordlessly, Draco pushed away from the wall, smoke wisping from his nostrils as he exhaled. Exiting the bathroom, he padded heavily across the hotel room. Pulling open the sliding door, he stepped out onto the terrace, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more. Hermione could feel the cool breeze drift in, soft jazz notes from the bar a few streets away, in Via Crescenzio, on the air. The bar doubled up as a wizarding bar, the basement acting as a doorway to the Via Della magia, just like The Leaky Cauldron back in London.

Glancing out through the open doorway, Hermione frowned as she watched Draco drop wearily into the rattan couch, elbows rested on his knees. Turning her attention back to the mirror, she swept the kohl along her right eyelid before replacing the cap on the pencil angrily. She brushed her eyelashes with mascara, reaching for another tissue to blot the excess. Finally finished, she gave her reflection a small nod before turning on her heel and exiting the bathroom. She grabbed her clutch from the side table on her way out to the terrace, placing one hand on her hip as she narrowed her eyes at Draco. The glowing end intensified as Draco took a long drag and looked up, regarding her with tired eyes. For the first time since they had arrived two days ago, Hermione noted the dark shadows under his eyes; the frown lines that had deepened betraying the toll this case was taking on him.

Draco stood, stepping towards her as she sucked in a breath, her heart pounding in her chest. Her stomach twisted in a knot as her eyes found his; he tilted his head to look into her eyes. In the half-light, his ice blue eyes darkened to indigo as his right hand came up to her ear, his thumb brushing the shell as he pressed into the delicate flesh of her conch.

Hermione frowned, confused by the gesture.

"Dennis Creevy has a muggle cousin who works in law enforcement," he explained as Hermione fingered the small device he had placed in her ear. For this mission, Harry's instructions had been abundantly clear: no magic was to be used.

"This is a bad idea," Draco told her, his voice low. His breath ghosted her skin causing her heart to flutter, the earlier twisting feeling in her stomach dissolving into lightness.

Something akin to indecisiveness flickered in Draco's eyes. He shuttered it away as he stepped out of her personal space, purposefully striding back into the room as Hermione let out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding. A vague feeling of disappointment washed over Hermione as her heart slowed to a more normal rhythm.

"I will be sat at a table outside Ristorante All'Ombra Del Quirinale," he told her distractedly as he snapped his cufflinks into his dress shirt. "I need your laptop." Turning towards her he held out his hand as Hermione stepped back into the room.

Hermione looked up at him confused. "My laptop?"

Draco rolled his eyes, dropping his hand by his side. "Harry said no magic so it's not like I can use a disillusionment charm. I will need a cover," he explained, his voice weary.

Hermione crossed the room, bending to punch the code into the room safe. In the silence of the room the snap of the lock made her jump slightly.

Draco frowned at her as she handed the laptop over. "Are you alright?"

A faint blush stained her cheeks. "Just a little nervous," she murmured, averting her gaze.

"This is a bad idea," Draco muttered as he placed the laptop in his briefcase.

"Will you stop saying that," Hermione snapped, her cheeks darkening to crimson.

Draco's jaw tightened as he regarded her. "It's never a good sign to go into a mission with nerves," he told her as his forehead creased into a deep frown. "And _you_ are never nervous."

"I'm _always_ nervous," Hermione hissed, her chocolate eyes swirling with anger. "I just don't let it show…"

"Well it's showing _now_ ," Draco snapped grabbing his jacket from where he had slung it over a chair.

"Maybe my partner's continual commentary is the source of my tension," Hermione hissed as she slipped her midnight blue pashmina over her bare shoulders.

Draco glared at her as he picked up the hotel phone to call for a car service, tilting his chin away from the receiver. "Maybe if _my_ partner didn't blindly follow orders….yes hello?" He turned away from the death glare she shot at him. Finishing the call he replaced the receiver.

"When are you going to let this go?" she hissed as Draco opened the door.

"Let what go?" he retorted distractedly as he slid the hotel keycard into the lock, securing the room.

"I don't ' _blindly follow orders'_ ; I do my job," she hissed, glancing down the hallway.

"Which for you means blindly following 'The Chosen One's' orders," he replied scornfully.

"I am not having this argument with you again, Draco," Hermione snapped storming down the corridor towards the elevator.

Draco watched as she stabbed the buttons repeatedly, huffing. His stomach twisted in knots, something intangible tugging at his psyche. Something was off about this mission but he couldn't put his finger on _what_ , the elusive feeling driving him to distraction.

* * *

Draco watched over the top of Hermione's laptop as she handed her invitation to the sharply suited guard standing at the wrought iron gates of the National Gallery, trying to ignore his building trepidation as he absently tapped at the keys.

As she made her way along the pathway, disappearing out of sight, he frowned at the screen.

"I can feel you scowling from here," her voice came in his ear causing him to roll his eyes.

"I have a feeling," he replied quietly but firmly.

"Yes, well, I have feelings too," she replied, smiling as she passed under the archway and into the gallery.

"Spare me the Gryffindor muchiness," he retorted painfully. "What do you see?"

"Statues and a fountain, Draco," she replied sarcastically.

"Obviously," he drawled. "I am given to understand that even Muggles are cultured."

"How very enlightened of you," she chuckled. "Okay, I see our target."

Draco sat up a little straighter. "Who's he with?"

"The Italian Prime Minister and the Italian Minister for Magic," Hermione replied as she took a flute of champagne from a passing waitress.

"Anyone else of note?" Draco asked casually, tapping away.

Hermione didn't respond.

"Granger?" Draco asked, his trepidation peaking.

"Granger?" he repeated, his fingers tensing above the mousepad.

"Calm down," Hermione hissed across the airwaves. "I couldn't answer without drawing attention to myself," she explained as she pretended to admire a Caravaggio. "She's here."

"This isn't good. Whatever he has planned cannot be good, Granger. You need to find a way to get to her and establish her involvement."

"Really? I hadn't thought of that," she hissed as she returned to the main hallway, smiling at the guests who drifted past her.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek hard as he pursed his lips, listening as Hermione made small talk. For a muggle she was very adept at social climbing, he considered.

"Pansy?" he heard her feign shock. "My dear, how long has it been?" Hermione air kissed her cheeks politely so as to avoid drawing attention while the Italian Prime Minister's wife stood smiling next to her.

"Granger. I wasn't aware you were on the guest list," she replied somewhat curtly.

"Kingsley wanted to attend himself but he had a prior engagement," Hermione smiled as she turned to gaze over the guests.

"Well I am sure you are a suitable alternative nonetheless," Pansy replied, holding Hermione's gaze firmly. Hermione matched the intensity of her look, praying that Draco was picking up the tension.

Slamming the laptop closed, Draco shoved it into the messenger bag and made his way across the street, ducking into the Via Venti Settembre. Once out of sight he cast a disillusionment charm on himself before making his way back toward the gallery.

"To hell with Potter," he spat angrily.

"Pansy, darling, you must introduce me to your friend."

Hermione sipped her champagne casually as the man she knew to be Enzo Bianco slipped his hand across Pansy's back, gracing Hermione with a saccharine smile.

"This is Hermione Granger," she replied feigning boredom as Enzo ghosted a kiss across Hermione's knuckles.

Pansy huffed as Enzo slipped Hermione's hand into the crook of his arm. "Come my dear, I would like to introduce you to some friends."

Hermione smiled as he led her into a small room where two gentlemen stood in quiet confidence in the corner.

"My dear, let me introduce you to Antonin Dolohov and Stanislav Meirer," he drawled, tightening his grasp on her hand.

"Charmed," Dolohov sneered, stepping forward to press a kiss to her free hand. Hermione's breath hitched in her throat as his coarse lips grazed her skin.

Suddenly he yanked her forward. "Hello, Hermione," Dolohov rasped as his calloused hand caressed the small scar on her exposed collarbone.

A gasp fell from her lips as he disapparated her from the room, nausea welling up and threatening to cause her to spill the contents of her stomach as she landed on a secluded island.

Hermione glanced around frightened, attempting to take in her surroundings as he dragged her along a stone path towards a heavily warded cottage. Her astute mind surmised her probable location as one of the Venetian islands. She only hoped that Draco had ignored Harry's demands for no magic.

Suddenly Dolohov stumbled, crying out in pain. Belatedly Hermione realised he had been hit with a hex.

"Give it up you piece of shit," Draco's booming voice called out as another hex flew past Hermione. Breaking a heel of her shoes as she fled, she stumbled and fell as Dolohov swore, throwing a hex at Draco.

"Fuck off, blood traitor. The bitch is mine," Dolohov growled as he grabbed Hermione once more.

"I don't think so," Hermione hissed, stamping on his foot, bringing her elbow up to his nose and breaking it. Kicking off her shoes, she broke into a run as Draco threw another hex.

Growling in anger, Dolohov disapparated once more.

"Fuck," bellowed Draco angrily, throwing his wand down in frustration.

"Malfoy," Hermione called as he tugged at his blond locks. "Malfoy," she repeated, reaching for him.

"Draco," she whispered, cupping his face. "It's okay," she soothed as he pressed his forehead to hers. "It's okay," she repeated as her lips found his.

With a crack they were back in their hotel room, lips locked in a passionate kiss, their tongues fighting for dominance, their hands grasping at the other.

"I told you I had a feeling," Draco mumbled as they broke apart, Hermione's hand coming up to her lips in shock.

Draco stared at her.

"This was a bad idea," he told her, searching her eyes trying to make sense of what was happening between them. The words had spilled from his mouth before he could stop them, unsure as to whether he was referring to the mission or the kiss.

Hermione nodded, unsure as to what he was referring, much less to what she was agreeing.


	6. Chapter 6

**London 2008**

Harry slammed the files down on the long mahogany table letting out an exasperated sigh as Hermione shifted uncomfortably on her seat. She watched as Harry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, a sign of the stress he was feeling in that moment.

Behind her, leaning against a wall, arms folded resolutely across his chest, her partner stood with a defiant look on his face. For several protracted minutes no one spoke.

Finally Harry put his glasses back on his face and looked up over Hermione's head and straight at the steely eyes that glared back at him.

"Just tell me one thing, Draco: What the hell were you thinking?"

Draco clenched his jaw. "Me?" he replied through painfully gritted teeth.

"You disobeyed a direct order: you performed magic in a muggle area; you violated the statute of secrecy…"

"I also happened to save Granger's life.." Draco retorted, the incredulity in his tone matching the look on his face.

"You don't know what would have happened.."

"I didn't want to find out!" Draco cried as Harry rose from his seat, temper almost at breaking point.

"Malfoy, I have warned you enough about your insubordination.." Harry began but Draco cut him off once more with the question that had been burning in him since their mission in Rome went horribly wrong.

"How long?"

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion, momentarily caught off guard by the question.

"What?"

"How long have you know Dolohov was involved?"

Hermione felt herself tense as she saw the flicker in Harry's face as his eyes momentarily met hers before snapping back up to Draco's.

"You sent us to capture LeStrange; you made no mention of Dolohov."

The words hung in the air between them as Harry drew himself up to his full height. "You go too far, Malfoy."

Draco chuckled drily. "No, Potter," he spat. "I go as far as necessary. It is you who goes beyond that point, continually putting others in danger with only half the information.."

Hermione whipped around in her seat, the movement catching Draco's eye. For a moment their eyes locked and he set his jaw once more, hearing her silently beg him to stop before he went too far. They had already had this argument in the hotel and suddenly he was back in Rome, the morning after they had kissed, the tension between them palpable as it increased until it snapped into a row of such magnificent proportions it had frightened him. Seeing the fury in her eyes as the lights flickered in the room, feeling the vibration of his wards that threatened to break, he had backed off, instead pulling her into a fierce embrace, holding her until he felt her calm, whispering promises to let it go that he wasn't sure he could keep. They had returned to London with so much unsaid, so much buried deep down that it threatened to crack the very foundations of their friendship.

Draco felt himself pulled back into the moment, his eyes fixed on hers, silently asking her to say something, anything in his defence. But the way she handled Harry had always been different; more considered and with far more tact. And while Draco understood that, he couldn't help but feel the stab of pain that pierced his heart as she turned once more to face Harry, her eyes narrow as she took in Harry's features.

"That is enough." Harry's words were eerily calm and Hermione's eyes widened as she knew before he continued what was coming next, but as she opened her mouth to protest, Draco slammed his badge and wand down on the table.

"I resign." Draco's words were cold as he felt Hermione's shocked stare.

"Draco.." she began, but he ignored her, eyes still fixed on Harry.

"Have them process my wand. I'll collect it and clear my desk in the morning," he snapped before storming from the room, leaving a shocked and bewildered Hermione to round on Harry.

"Fix this." Her words caused Harry's eyes to snap from where they followed Draco out of the conference room, to hers. "You will fix this," she demanded, pointing a stern finger at him as she flushed with anger.

Harry took in the emotion in her face, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Malfoy goes too far Hermione. He needs…"

"You to listen. Merlin! Harry, I would think you of all people would understand how it feels to only have half the facts," she snapped, holding his gaze until he looked away, dragging a hand through his hair.

"I couldn't compromise the safety of other agents.." he began, turning back to her, suppressing a shudder as she raised an eyebrow at him in a way that was all too reminiscent of her partner.

"And yet you were perfectly happy to throw us under the bus," she hissed knowing he would understand the muggle expression.

"It wasn't like that," he sighed as Hermione stood, her expression softening slightly. "Then fix this, because from his perspective, your oldest and closest friend is dispensable and she just so happens to be the partner he swore to protect when he took up his badge. This job is everything to him, Harry. Everything," she emphasised. "And you just forced him to resign."

Harry started to protest. "I did no such thing!" he retorted as Hermione tilted her head as she regarded him.

"No? Tell me you were not just about to put him on administrative leave for upholding his oath to his partner?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "No!" he told her sternly. "For disobeying a direct order.."

"He only did that because I was in danger. In his eyes you have made his position here untenable," Hermione sighed. "You are my best friend, Harry. I trust your judgement, I always have. But for once, see things from someone else's perspective," she finished before leaving the conference room, and Harry to his thoughts.

* * *

Hermione folded her napkin in her lap as the waitress set down their lunch. Across the table, Astoria Malfoy smiled politely at Hermione, waiting for the young girl to leave.

"I'm sure you must be wondering why I asked you to lunch, Hermione," Astoria began as Hermione shrugged slightly, lifting her glass of water to her lips and sipping.

"We are acquaintances are we not?" Hermione asked as she returned her water.

"Yes," Astoria replied softly, pausing. "I would like your advice." Her confession was almost whispered and Hermione was rendered speechless. "It is a delicate matter, as I am sure you understand."

"Would it not be more appropriate to speak with Daphne?" Hermione asked, watching as Astoria let out a wry chuckle as she shook her head.

"My sister enjoys the life that comes from dating an international playboy; I do not think her advice would be best for my marriage, do you?"

"But.." Hermione began, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Astoria cut her off. "I am not a stupid witch, Hermione," she smiled. "I was brought up in a pureblooded home, with pureblooded parents, one of whom died, the other who followed the Dark Lord along a path that led only to Azkaban, my wayward sister running off to Europe before the dust had settled. My marriage was arranged, the courtship short, my husband a man who I knew by reputation more than I actually knew the person he is. We have a marriage based on mutual respect as is the way in our society." She watched as Hermione opened her mouth, but cut her off with a wave of her hand. "I am not trying to be derogatory, Hermione, simply trying to better explain my position. You have a history with my husband that I do not. Long before you forged a friendship, you understood him, probably better than he understands himself."

Hermione sat back, aware of the way her fingers were trembling as she placed them in her lap. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for the accusation she was sure was to come, but when it did not, she found herself confused by the statement that came instead. "My husband does not smoke, Hermione."

"I'm sorry?"

Astoria smiled. "My husband does not smoke. Except when he has been arguing with you," she explained simply. "It is one of his tells as it were. I always know when you are the source of his ill temper, long before his ranting starts. I am sure that if I spoke to Ronald he would be able to tell me what your tell is."

Hermione thought back to the last row she had with Ron before he returned to Moscow and she was sent to Rome. "What's he done this time?" The words echoed in her mind as Astoria sighed. "My husband does not smoke, except when he has been arguing with you. And although you argued quite a lot more in the beginning than you do now, he has spent more nights than not for the last three months, shut up in his study smoking."

The casual manner with which Astoria revealed Draco's behaviour was unsettling and Hermione felt herself flush as Astoria confided in her. Astoria regarded her for a moment before reaching across the table to take her hand as she fiddled nervously with her napkin.

"I am sorry if I have embarrassed you, but all I seek is understanding. I do not need the details of whatever the reason for your disagreement, but if you could provide me with insight in how to reach out to my husband, I would be much obliged."

"I'm not sure I can tell you anything you do not already know about Draco," Hermione replied, her voice sounding more confident than she felt. "And it isn't really me he is angry with...," her words trailed off. She bit her bottom lip as she gathered her thoughts. "As you know, neither of us is able to discuss our assignments."

"I am aware," Astoria smiled, pausing as she tilted her head. "It's a sort of intimacy, is it not? The relationship between two auror partners."

"In a way, yes," Hermione answered honestly as Astoria nodded.

"So you see why I come to you then, Hermione," she smiled, squeezing Hermione's hand that she still held in her own. "Please do not misunderstand my intentions or approach. I am not here as a scorned witch; that is not my style. I come to you as your equal."

Hermione found herself speechless once more. She dragged her teeth over the plump flesh of her lip as she considered the vulnerability of the witch before her, feeling her heart pound against her chest once more.

"Our assignment is the source of his distress," Hermione whispered. "I cannot tell you details, but Harry put Draco in an awful position. Talk to him, Astoria. That is my advice." she sighed.

Astoria laughed. "You understand that our marriage is not based on the same foundation as your partnership, do you not?"

Hermione regarded her quizzically.

"Draco and I do not exist on an equal footing in the way that you and he do."

Hermione sighed. "Then maybe that is something you should address. If you can't talk to each other what hope do you have?" The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them.

"Alas, I fear you are right, Hermione." Astoria pushed away her untouched salad. "Suddenly I do not feel hungry, please forgive me. Good day." Astoria excused herself politely leaving Hermione stunned.

* * *

The floo roared in Draco's study, the emerald light of the flames flickering and catching Draco's eye in the mirror. He scowled as he poured another firewhiskey into his crystal tumbler.

"I'm not in the mood to discuss today, Granger."

"It's not Hermione," came Harry's voice behind him.

Draco slammed his tumbler down on the sideboard. "I'm definitely not in the mood to talk to you, Potter,"

Harry sighed. "Look, I came to apologise…" he began as Draco turned around, an eyebrow raised. Once more Harry found himself suppressing a shudder as he recalled the way Hermione had looked at him earlier.

"You two are more alike than you know," he murmured, holding out a file towards Draco.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice gruff as he accepted the file begrudgingly. He gestured to the wingback chairs by the fire.

"It's everything the Ministry knows that is pertinent to your assignment. Every Death Eater we think is involved, every asset we have in place…" he trailed off as Draco looked up sharply from the file that was now open in his lap.

"I didn't know Dolohov was involved until Ron sent me his report," Harry sighed.

"Is that why you sent him back to Moscow?"

Harry nodded. "I didn't tell Hermione because I wanted to protect her."

"And you thought sending her husband back into the thick of it without telling her was protecting her?" Draco inquired, his tone laced with disdain.

"You don't understand, Draco," Harry sighed. "Dolohov.."

"Attacked her during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries? She still bears the scars and he still haunts her nightmares, Harry." Draco curtly replied, cutting Harry off with a look.

Harry sat back, silently regarding Draco.

"You do not hold the monopoly on caring about her," Draco murmured, returning his attention to the file. Neither spoke as Draco turned over the pages, a small piece of parchment catching his attention, something seemingly familiar about it.

"What's this?" he asked, reading the hurriedly scrawled message.

"Actually, I wanted your opinion on that.." Harry began as Draco read.

_Little Brother_

_The Devil's minions tried but I am now hidden_

_Little Sister_

"When did you get this?" Draco demanded, thrusting the parchment at Harry.

"This afternoon," he frowned. "You understand it then?"

"Yes. I am 'Little Brother,'" he explained, shoving the file onto the side table between the chairs, before standing and striding over to the bookcase. He pulled down a book and returned, shoving it at Harry.

"Brother's Grimm? But these are muggle fairytales," Harry stared up at him confused.

Draco shook his head. "Don't you ever listen to her lectures? Most of your muggle tales are based on wizard stories from before muggles forced us to live in secret. The story you know as Hansel and Gretel was once known as Little Brother and Little Sister," Draco explained.

"But you don't have a sister.."

"Yes, I do. Pansy."


	7. Chapter 7

**November 2008**

**London**

 

Stepping from the floo, Hermione brushed the dust from her work robes as she dropped her briefcase on the coffee table.  Slipping her feet out of her kitten heels, she spread her toes as she stretched before shaking out her hands as if she was trying to shake off the day.  Sighing heavily, she padded across to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge.  She poured a glass before wandering over to the floor to ceiling window that provided her with a panoramic view of the Thames, the lights twinkling as she gazed out over the city.  On reflection, it had not been a good day.  

 

Sipping her wine, she massaged the back of her neck, attempting to squeeze some of the tension out of her tight muscles.  Shrugging off her robe she dropped it on the back of her chair, debating whether to order takeaway and have a bath or floo to Draco’s study and try to talk him into staying.  Her heart clenched as she remembered the way he had looked at her, but then she thought of Astoria and her desperate questioning.  Something about the whole encounter troubled her in a vaguely intangible way that made her think of Ron.  With a slight pang of guilt she realised she hadn’t thought of Ron since she had come home from Rome and found that Harry had sent him back to Moscow.

 

Sighing again, Hermione crossed the room to her bedroom, going to her dresser.  She pulled out a pair of yoga pants before shutting the draw and going to Ron’s closet.  Opening it she frowned at the mess where he had clearly just thrown his clothes in there.  After several minutes rooting around, and a near black eye when his broom fell down from where it had been lodged above, she managed to locate the article of clothing she was looking for: his old Quidditch shirt.

 

An hour later she was showered, changed, and picking at Chinese.  Now she thought about it, she didn’t really feel hungry.  Sighing, she shoved her chopsticks into the carton roughly, before shoving it to one side on the coffee table.  She pulled her legs up under her, pulling the neck of the shirt up, inhaling the scent of his lingering cologne.  Although Ron drove her mad sometimes, he was still her husband.  Closing her eyes she inhaled once more, starting when the floo suddenly and unexpected roared to life.  Her eyes snapped open, meeting Draco’s, as he stepped from the fireplace.  Hermione opened her mouth but, before she could speak, Harry stepped from the floo.

“What’s going on? What’s happened?” panic rising in her as she looked from Draco to Harry and back again.

“Nothing,” Harry began, “Well, we had this letter and I just showed it to Draco…” Harry glanced at Draco before continuing.  “It’s from Pansy.”

“Pansy?” Hermione echoed, frowning at Draco who was looking paler than usual.

“She is in trouble, it seems.  The letter came to the Ministry, but it is apparently addressed to Draco.”

 

Hermione took the parchment that Draco was holding out to her.  With narrow eyes she scanned the short note.

“Why is she calling you Little Brother?” Hermione asked, confused.

Draco sighed, dropping down onto the couch beside her, taking the parchment.  “I assume you are familiar with Hansel and Gretel? The original magical fairytale, I mean?” Draco glanced at her, seeing her nod.

“Of course.  The tale is called Little Brother and Little Sister,” she began.  “It’s the tale of two siblings who go into the forest at the request of their parents and end up being enticed into a cottage where the Devil lived with his wife and his minions.”

Draco curled his lip.  “See the parallel?” he asked dryly.

“Oh,” Hermione breathed.  

Draco turned to her, a sense of panic washing over him that made him look almost frantic.  “You know, better than anyone,” he swallowed hard.  “You know that’s how I felt.  I had no choice in the path I was forced to take.  By the time Pansy and I realised, it was too late.”

Hermione placed a hand on his.  “She called me Little Brother because her parents were my godparents, and mine were hers.  When her mother died, she inherited a small cottage in Denmark; it was said to be the cottage that inspired the tale.  Her father never knew it existed or that she had inherited it.  If things had been different…” Draco’s voice trailed off as he glanced up at Harry.  “If you had not won, that was our plan.  We would go to that cottage, as it was hidden.  That is what the letter means.  That is where she is.”

 

“Well you know what you need to do then,” Harry informed him with a shrug.  

Draco let out a wry chuckle.  “I can’t, can I? I resigned.”

Wordlessly, Harry reached into his pocket.  Draco’s eyes widened as Harry tossed his badge and wand on the coffee table.

“I don’t accept your resignation and neither, I might add, does Kingsley.”  Harry flashed him a lopsided smile.  Draco opened his mouth but Harry waved away whatever he was about to say.  Harry glanced at Hermione who met his eyes, flushing slightly.  He tilted his head to one side slightly, regarding her.

“Right, well, I best be off.  The kids are staying at The Burrow tonight,” he smirked at Draco as Hermione clamped her hands over her ears.

“Too much information,” Hermione cried, squeezing her eyes shut as if that would make the images in her head disappear.

 

Hermione felt a hand clamp around her wrist as the floo roared, spiriting Harry away to his wife.  She opened her eyes and met his, the emotion swimming in them as he lowered her hand from her face, stirring something in her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, watching as he shook his head.

“No.  You were right.  I’ve been a total prat.”

“Well I’m not going to argue with you there,” she smiled, shoving him away playfully as he attempted to make her pay for her remark.  He grabbed a cushion and smacked her with it but she snatched it from him, amusement sparkling in her eyes, her breathing rapid as they sized each other up for a moment.  Finally they both let out the chuckles they had been holding in, Hermione blushing as she fluffed the pillow in her lap.  She looked up as Draco dropped his head into his hands.

“You look exhausted,” she noted.

Draco groaned.  “You don’t know the half of it.  I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Please!” Hermione cried.  “I don’t want to hear about your sex life any more than I do Harry’s!”

Draco scoffed.  “You know that’s not what I meant.  My marriage isn’t like that…”

“I don't want to know,” Hermione muttered, her blush deepening.

Draco regarded her quizzically.  “Since when?”

Hermione looked up at him, confused by his question.

“Since when do we not confide in each other?” he asked, his voice quiet, his tone unmistakable.

“Well… I mean… of course...just not that?” Hermione spluttered as Draco’s eyebrow raised higher.

“What is with you?”

“Nothing,” she rushed as Draco stared at her.  Finally he gave up, leaning back against the couch, eyes closed.

“You really do look tired,” she murmured causing Draco to open his eyes, turning his head towards her.  She patted her cushion.

Draco started to move towards the cushion, pausing half-way there.  

“I hate that shirt,” he muttered with a scowl before dropping his head to the cushion, Hermione’s hand going to his hair instinctively.  She rolled her eyes silently.

“Remember when we got sent to Zurich?” Draco mumbled.

Hermione frowned.  “When we had to oversee the transfer of the gallons from the Swiss Goblin bank?”

Draco hummed his reply.  “Remember you got all in a tizz because your designer robes got soaked?”

Hermione scowled.

“A tantrum the likes of which I have only ever seen thrown by Pansy,” Draco chuckled into the pillow.

“Where are you going with this trip down memory lane?” Hermione snarked.

Draco smiled into the cushion.  “Your robes were apparently dry clean only so you wouldn’t let me dry them and you had nothing to change into.  Tut tut, Granger.  Such bad planning.”

Hermione flicked his ear, hard.

“Ow!” Draco complained rubbing his ear.

 

Silence fell over them both. Just when Hermione thought Draco had fallen asleep, he mumbled, “You looked better in my old Quidditch shirt.”

 

Eyes snapping open, Draco jolted up but felt Hermione’s hand press against his shoulder and she shushed him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.  He squinted at his wristwatch.  “How long was I asleep?”

“About an hour,” came Hermione’s quiet reply as Draco sat up, grinding his eyes with the heel of his hands.   

“We should sort out travel arrangements,” he stated as he stood up and padded over to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and turning on the tap.

Hermione grabbed her laptop and started clicking away.  As Draco padded back from the kitchen, Hermione turned the laptop so he could see the map of Denmark she had pulled up.  

“Where is the cottage?”

“There,” he told her pointing to the small island of Vigelso in the middle of the Odense Fjord.  Hermione narrowed her eyes.  “Are you sure? It looks uninhabited.”

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Well of course it does.  It’s unplottable.”

“Right,” Hermione replied distractedly as she started tapping away.  She looked across at Draco as he sat down.  “You know that we have to treat this the same as any asset extraction mission don’t you?”

“How long have I been an auror, Granger?” Draco replied sarcastically, his question clearly rhetorical.

Hermione sighed.  “I’m just saying, I know that you will want to speak with her and I can understand that, but we still have to follow the usual protocol.”

Draco narrowed his eyes as his jaw set, a muscle in his cheek twitching.  “I am aware,” he replied.

“Next flight is from Heathrow in five hours.  I suggest you go home and get some sleep.”

Draco shook his head before calling for his elf, Erwarth.  “Doesn’t seem much point in going home.  I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway,” he shrugged, before giving instructions to the elf.

 

Hermione padded over to the kitchen, making a pot of tea as Draco sat back down and pushed up the sleeves of his dress shirt, exposing his forearms.  She tried to ignore the way the action made her tingle, Astoria’s words ringing in her ears.  The witch had clearly been looking for an ally but the casual way she spoke of the intimacy of her friendship with Draco made her uneasy.  As she brought over the tea, Draco was peering into her discarded Chinese take-away container, frowning.

“Why did you order beef? You went off beef when we were in New York,” he commented, referring to when they had been requested to escort Kingsley to a two week long United Nations summit in New York.

Hermione screwed up her nose.  “Well eating that or pizza every night put me off.  You really need to learn to cook,” she complained, sitting down beside him.

“Me?” he cried, one eyebrow raised amusedly.  “What about you?”

Hermione scoffed in response as she poured the tea.

“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question,” he replied, now picking at the lukewarm food with the chopsticks.

“What question?” Hermione mumbled, tapping away at her laptop.

“Why you ordered it,” Draco replied with a nudge, gesturing to her top.  “Same reason you’re wearing this awful thing?”

Hermione bit her bottom lip, taking a steadying breath in through her nose.  In the quiet of the apartment, Draco heard the change to her breathing and knew he had over stepped.  Holding the carton with his right hand, he reached over with his left and squeezed her left shoulder.

“Come here,” he whispered, tugging her towards him.  She didn’t put up more than a cursory resistance before turning into his chest as he wrapped his arm around her, casually switching the carton to his left hand ignoring the way his shirt dampened slightly.

“It’s hard to cuddle and eat ya know,” he whispered, mockingly.

Hermione let out a wry chuckle.  “I do; Ron complains about the same dilemma,” she started to pull away.  “Food usually wins.”

“Not tonight it doesn’t,” Draco whispered, chucking the carton back on the table, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as she settled back down.

  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

November 2008

Funen, Denmark

 

The silence in the hire car was deafening as they made their way along the monotonous stretch of motorway towards Vigelso.  Hermione felt her stomach twist in knots, the feeling making her somewhat nauseous.  Something between them was changing and Hermione could not place her finger on what exactly the cause and the lack of answer unsettled her.  She stole a glance at Draco as she shifted in her seat, grabbing a bottle of water from her purse.  Unscrewing the cap, she glanced at him once more as she sipped.

  
“What?” Draco frowned, glancing at her briefly before returning his focus to the road ahead.

“Nothing,” she replied, a little too quickly for Draco’s liking.

“You’ve hardly said two words to me since the plane took off.  What has got into you?” Draco asked, glancing across at her and then back at the road.  

“It’s nothing-”

“Don’t give me that,” he snapped, cutting her off.  “I asked you before, since when have we stopped being honest and confiding in each other?”

“I have a headache,” Hermione mumbled, screwing the cap back on the bottle of water and closing her eyes.  Dropping the bottle into her lap, she reached up and started massaging her temples.

 

Seeing how frayed Hermione was, Draco softened slightly, concern ghosting his features.  “Things are different between us and I want to know why,” he murmured as the Sat Nav came to life, chirping the next direction at him.

“We need to pull over hear and walk the rest of the way.  As I said before it’s unplottable,” he mumbled as he turned into the track before pulling up and turning off the engine.

 

Hermione unclipped her seatbelt silently as she tried in vain to bury down her misgivings.  Draco had warned her before about uneasiness before a mission not being a good sign but she was loathed to tell him what was concerning her, both professionally and personally.  Shutting the car door, she glanced at Draco who was watching her with careful scrutiny but whatever he was thinking he clearly wasn’t ready to voice either.

 

Making their way down the track, wands out, as leaves and twigs cracked underfoot, Hermione could not help the sense of foreboding that grew within her.  Suddenly, Draco pulled up, stopping abruptly, raising his free hand.  He turned to her and placed a finger to his lips as Hermione frowned, glancing round, unknowing what had made Draco stop so abruptly.  Finally, he signalled for them to carry on down the track, clearly deciding whatever he thought he had heard was no threat.

 

As the cottage came into sight, Draco signalled that she was to knock on the front door while Draco went around the back to check it was secure.  Nodding, Hermione made her way up the wooden steps to the front door, rapping the knocker three times as Draco walked quietly around the back of the small stone building.  Finding no answer, Hermione tried the door handle and found it turned easily, opening the door.  Stepping inside, she raised her wand in front of her, the creaking of the floorboards making her shudder despite herself.  Slowly she made her way from room to room, checking out the cottage.  Opening the kitchen door, she jumped slightly as Draco stepped into view, wand also raised.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Hermione breathed, her pulse slowly returning to normal.

“How long have you been an auror?” Draco questioned, raising one eyebrow at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Knock it off. I think the place is empty.  Are you sure this is the correct location?”

Draco’s jaw slackened slightly.  “Since when do you question my judgement?” 

“Is this really the time or the place?” Hermione asked, looking round the room, avoiding eye contact.  Astoria’s words echoed around in her head making it throb all the more.  No matter how much she tried to shut out what she had said it kept seeping in.

“This is definitely the correct place.  I have no more idea why Pansy is not here than I do why you are being so weird on me lately.”

 

Hermione made her way through to the dining room, the door banging behind her leaving Draco carding a hand through his blond locks exasperated.  After a moment he followed after her, groaning under his breath.

 

“I think we should talk,” he called, frowning at the vacant room.

“I think we should concentrate on the task at hand,” Hermione replied walking back through from the study holding a piece of parchment.  Crossing the room she handed the parchment to Draco.  “Pansy appears to have fled, leaving you this note.”

Draco frowned at the parchment.  “I have no idea what this means,” he told her, his eyes scanning the note for any clue as to Pansy’s wearabouts.  

“Well we have to work out where she might have gone, is there really nothing in that note to give you any indication of where she might be?” Hermione asked, eyeing Draco carefully, watching his ice blue eyes cloud with confusion.

“No, nothing.”

 

Hermione sighed, making her way back into the study.  

“I think we should talk,” she heard Draco say as she started to move pieces of parchment around on the desk.

“I think we should focus on this case,” she replied, her voice terse.

“Granger, for the last time, what is the problem here?” Draco asked her, growing more impatient.

Hermione sighed.  Opening her mouth to speak, she was cut off by a noise elsewhere in the cottage.

“I heard it too,” Draco whispered, raising his wand as Hermione raised her own.  Together they hustled to the door, Draco yanking it open and heading out into the hallway.  Suddenly the wood behind his head splintered with a flash of light.  Ducking, he instinctively sent a hex back in the direction it had come from as Hermione sent a barrage of hexes over his shoulder, the light flashing from the spells all around them.

“Get down!” Draco cried to Hermione as he fired a hex in the direction of the staircase, as a rather nasty hex hit the wood of the study door.

 

Rushing through the cottage, Draco threw hex after hex as Hermione covered him from behind, then they heard the distinct crack! Of their assailant apparating out of the cottage.  Breathless, Draco rushed down the stairs to check on Hermione.

“Fuck, are you okay?” he asked, noticing for the first time the trail of blood trickling down her arm.

“Yes, it was just a splinter from the doorframe.  I’m fine,” she told him, heading for the front door.  “I think until we know a bit more about what we are getting into here, we need to return to the car and head to the hotel.

 

Half an hour later the pair were back on the road, the tension in the car almost palpable.  

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Draco reminded Hermione, glancing at her.

“Why can’t you let this go?” Hermione asked, growing impatient with his questioning.  “I think we have far more important things to discuss right now,” she muttered, massaging her temples.

“You have been distant and I want to know why,” Draco commented, trying to keep his tone even.

“I told you already, everything’s fine,” Hermione replied, staring out the window.

Draco continued along the road silently as Hermione chewed her lip.  How could she answer him when she didn’t know herself why there was this tension between them? She wondered privately.

* * *

 

Stepping into the hotel lobby, Hermione stood to one side, massaging her temples as Draco checked them both into their room.  She could not wait to have a nice hot shower, the water pounding on her shoulders sure to massage the tension away.  Silently the pair travelled up to their room in the elevator, avoiding eye contact.  As they stepped into the hallway, the pair of them sensed the danger.  Wands raised, they made their way towards their room, slowly.  Pushing open the already unlocked door, the wood behind Draco splintered as a hex flew past him, narrowly missing his head.  Shielding Hermione, he returned the hex with one of his own, narrowly missing the masked, long haired assailant who was waiting in their room for them.     


“Expelliamus!” Hermione cried, the assailant’s wand coming to her hand as Draco hurled himself bodily at the masked intruder.  Clenching his fist, he smashed it into the man’s jaw, causing him to wince slightly before returning the blow with one of his own to Draco’s ribs.  Hermione rushed forward as the pair engaged in fierce hand to hand combat, grabbing hold of their assailant.  Roaring like a wolf, he tossed Hermione to one side like a rag doll, causing her to fall back against the nightstand, dropping the wands in her hand as Draco rained blows down on his opponent.   Scrambling across the floor, the assailant reached for his wand causing Hermione to kick out with her foot, catching him in the head.  The intruder grabbed hold of her ankle with a vice like grip that caused her to scream.  Draco lunged forward as she cried out, but he was a second to late as the intruder grabbed hold of the wand, apparating out of the room with a crack! 

 

Draco, helped Hermione to her feet, the pair struggling to get their breath back.  He stared at her ripped blouse exposing her breast as her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“Now what?” she breathed, as Draco’s eyes met hers.

Suddenly Draco’s hands were in her hair, Hermione’s fingers tearing at Draco’s dress shirt as their lips met in a clash.  They were a mess of teeth and tongues, nipping and sucking as they clawed at each other.  Hermione pressed herself to Draco wanting, no, she considered, needing to be as close to him in that moment as possible.  She hissed as his teeth found her neck, biting down, her right leg coming up to circle his hip as she clawed at his shoulders.  Hitching her up he slammed her body against the wall, as she ripped open his shirt, splaying her hands across his chest.  Draco nipped at her exposed collarbone, pushing the flimsy fabric from her alabaster skin.  Hermione’s fingers found their way into his blond locks as Draco pushed up the fabric of her skirt, slipping his fingers into her damp knickers.  Hermione hissed as Draco moaned into her neck, aroused by how wet he found her.  Sliding two fingers into her, he brushed her clit with his thumb causing her to cry out.  

 

Pinning her to the wall, Draco unzipped his trousers, burying himself to the hilt causing Hermione to gasp as he thrust, her head dropping to his shoulder.  Hands gripping her bottom, Draco peeled her from the wall dropping her unceremoniously on the bed.  Like a predator overpowering it’s prey, Draco crawled on top of her, sliding effortlessly into her wet heat despite their frenzied movements, as her keening cries reverberated around the hotel room.  Slipping her fingers between her folds, Hermione cried out as she climaxed, the waves pulling Draco tumbling over the edge of bliss along with her causing him to collapse down onto of her.

 

For a moment neither moved as their breathing returned to a more normal rate.  Hermione’s heart continued to pound in her chest as the lust that had overcome her subsided, giving way to the inevitable guilt that threatened to consume her.  Her mind screamed as she came to her senses, and she found herself scrambling away from underneath Draco, dragging the sheet from underneath him.  Wrapping it around her body in a vain attempt to preserve whatever dignity she still had, she rushed into the ensuite bathroom, slamming the door shut as Draco rolled onto his back, hands dragging roughly down his face as he groaned.

 

Inside the bathroom, Hermione stood with her back pressed to the door and began to sob, sinking slowly to the floor.

* * *

  
Hermione was unsure how long she had been in the bathroom when the knocking started.  Lifting herself from the floor, she opened the shower stall door and turned on the faucet.  Tears continued to track down her face silently as she stepped under the water, the sheet still wrapped around her body.  

 

Outside the door, Draco pressed his forehead to the door, waves of guilt washing over him.  He hadn’t meant to it to happen, he told himself.  Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure how it had happened.  One minute he had been fighting with an intruder, the next he was pawing at Hermione, overcome with lust.  

“Hermione,” he called through the door, testing the handle.  Feeling it give way, he opened the door and sighed at the sight of Hermione in a heap at the bottom of the shower.  Stepping under the water, not caring about the fact that he was now wearing his trousers, he pulled her into his lap and held her gently as she cried.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

December 2008

London

 

Hermione Granger hated Christmas, she decided, as she made her way through the corridors that were decked with magical ornaments and mistletoe that shimmered above every doorway as she made her way into the bowels of the Ministry where the office she shared with Draco Malfoy was located.  Quite why in this post war Ministry they had felt the need to embrace such a gaudy tradition, Merlin only knew, she decided as she scowled at yet another intern who dared to smile at her.  She was in a foul mood and wasn’t afraid to let everyone know that fact.  She was also late, which she absolutely never was, and not looking forward to the no doubt stale by now pastry that Draco would have got her.

 

“Here,” she told him, thrusting his coffee into his hand causing Draco to jump backwards to avoid the hot liquid scalding his lap as it spilled out of the spout of the lid.

“Thank you?” he replied, unsure if he really should be thanking her for almost depositing the coffee in his lap.  “Want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked as he took off the lid, shaking the liquid from it before replacing it securely and taking a sip, eyeing her over the rim.

“Nothing, I am fine,” Hermione insisted, pulling papers from her briefcase.

Elbow on his desk, Draco rubbed his forehead in frustration.  “You know, you say that word so frequently now that I am sure the word has lost all meaning,” he complained meeting the stone cold glare she sent him from her desk with one of his own.  

Opening her mouth as if to speak, Hermione clearly thought better of it as she pursed her lips together.

“We are due in the conference room now,” she informed him tartly, rising from her desk and stalking from the room without looking back.

* * *

  
  


Shaking off the day with her coat, Hermione lifted her aching feet out of her kitten heels, padding across the apartment to the the fridge.  Opening the door she sighed at the bare contents and pulled out a bottle of wine.  Uncorking it, she poured herself a large glass before carrying both over to the sofa.  Not for the first time since she had returned from a fruitless trip to Denmark to a note from Ron she wondered where he was and what he was doing.  All she knew is that Harry and Kingsley had sent him and his partner, Susan Bones, to Kiev after months of the pair working in Moscow.  That had been a month ago and she had received no word since.  As she stared out of the floor to ceiling glass at the view of the Thames she couldn’t help the feeling that crept around her heart: betrayal.

 

She was a hypocrite, she knew, having betrayed her husband in the most fundamental of ways but the longer he was away, the more the guilt took it’s toll on her and the more she took her frustrations out on Draco.  How could she deal with the fact that they had been papering over the cracks in their marriage with him spending so much time in Russia?

 

Padding into her bedroom, Hermione changed out of her work robes and into her pyjamas, enjoying the soft feel of her winter bed socks on her aching feet.  Making her way back to the counter where she had deposited her briefcase, she picked up her phone and considered texting Ginny.  Thinking better of it, she drained her glass and headed for the floo.

 

Moments later, she landed in the atrium of Malfoy Manor, green light licking the pristine walls.  Astoria strode purposely from the blue drawing room into the wide atrium, pausing as her eyes settled on Hermione who was brushing floo powder from her pyjamas.

“Oh, it’s you,” Astoria sighed.  “I was wondering how long it would take you to come over and sort out your latest fight with my husband.”

“We aren’t fighting,” Hermione stated, her brow knitting with confusion.  Or maybe they were, Hermione could barely tell who she was angry with or why anymore.

“No?” Astoria questioned, curling her lip up slightly in a wry smile.  “You forget, Hermione.  I am his wife, and I know when you two are suffering from, how shall we say, a lover’s tiff?”

“Lover’s tiff?” Hermione echoed, her confusion deepening as she flushed slightly, thankful for the darkness of the atrium.  Astoria simply smiled before turning and heading back towards the blue drawing room, leaving Hermione to make her way to Draco’s study.  

 

Not bothering to knock, Hermione turned the handle of the door, Astoria’s words continuing to echo in her mind.  It was true that things had been difficult for some time and as much as Hermione tried to put her bad mood down to the looming prospect of spending Christmas alone, or the fact that the case they were working on was getting to her, the truth of it was Astoria had touched a nerve with her implication.  She thought back to their lunchtime meeting before she and Draco had travelled to Denmark.  Astoria had implied then too that there was more to their relationship than simply a good working rapport.   They had been fighting then, Hermione recalled but what if the reason was more to do with the kiss that should never have happened.  In truth it had haunted Hermione because she had wanted more and indeed she had taken more in Denmark.  

 

Opening the door, Hermione sighed at the sight of Draco sat in his wingback chair by the fire, elbows to his knees, cigarette between the fingers of his left hand.

“I really do wish you would kick that particular habit,” Hermione said by way of greeting.

Draco grunted as he took another drag.

“I think we should talk,” she continued, coming into view causing Draco to grunt once more.

“So now you want to talk.  I’ve only been trying to get you to do that for weeks, but whatever,” he muttered, flicking ash into a crystal ashtray.

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “This isn’t easy for me you know,” she murmured, digging her hands into the pockets of the cardigan she had thrown on over her pyjamas.

Draco said nothing, choosing to stare into the fireplace rather than meet her eye.  Finally with a sigh Hermione perched on the edge of the chair next to Draco’s.  

“You asked me before why things were changing between us,” Hermione began.  “You forget that I asked you the same thing.”

Draco glanced across at her as she spoke, recalling the fight they had after she was injured in Paris.  

“We have been fighting this,” she said gesturing to the space between them with her hands.  “Instead of focusing on the case, we have been fighting the fact that our relationship has reached an unhealthy place.” Taking a breath, she pressed on rushing her words.  “We have let ourselves get caught up in the personal instead of keeping things professional.  It’s not our fault; it happens sometimes.  Especially when our emotional relationships are suffering.”  Draco sat back trying to process what she was saying.  “I don’t need to tell you there is a distance between Ron and I that I am not sure we can bridge anymore.  We co-exist in a shared space but the truth of it is we are papering over the cracks in our marriage,” she sighed, glancing at Draco who seemed to stunned to speak.  “Nevertheless that is no excuse.  We need to focus on the case, and we need to decide whether we can continue to work professionally without crossing the line.”

 

Draco frowned at her.  “So what are you saying, Granger?”

Hermione couldn’t help but wince at the way he said her maiden name after calling her by her given name for the last couple of months.  Taking a breath, she ignored the ache in her heart.  “I am saying that what we have done is wrong, and it cannot happen again.  I am saying that if we cannot guarantee that it won’t that one of us must put in for a transfer.”

Draco’s heart pounded in his chest as he nodded slowly.

“So we are in agreement then?” she asked, her voice oddly businesslike.

“Yes,” Draco replied, standing up and making his way over to the desk.

 

“I’ve been going over this file,” he began, handing the file to Hermione, watching as her eyes went wide. 

“Where did you get this?” she asked, a slight edge to her voice, anger rising up from the pit of her stomach.

“Before we went to Denmark, Harry gave me this file,” Draco explained, his hands going up defensively as Hermione’s mouth gaped open in shock.  

“So you have been condemning me for withholding personal information all the while sitting on this?” Hermione asked, her voice raised.

“No, I have been trying to protect you,” Draco explained as Hermione began to tear open the file.  “You have been on edge ever since we got ambushed in Denmark.  We still don’t know who that was.  I didn’t want to make things more difficult for you than they already were.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, her hand paused from turning over the pages.  “What do you mean?” she asked, the edge to her voice returning.

 

Draco sat on the edge of his seat and took the file from her; Hermione tried to ignore the rush of blood at the touch of his hand to hers.  Turning the pages, he handed the file back to her, watching as the colour drained from her face.  “So this is why my husband has been spending so long in Russia lately,” she said, the pieces of an intricate puzzle falling into place in her mind.

“I’m afraid it is,” Draco replied solemnly.

* * *

 

Hermione strode into Harry’s office without bothering to knock.  Glancing up from his paperwork, Harry saw the stern expression on his face and sat back as she slammed the file down on his ornate mahogany desk.

 

“When were you going to tell me you had sent my husband after Dolohov?” she demanded, her tone forthright.  Harry glanced over her shoulder to see Draco leaning against the office door, arms folded casually across his chest.  Catching Harry’s look he shrugged slightly at the dark haired wizard.  

 

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, glancing from Hermione to the file and back again.

“It was need to know information,” Harry replied, his tone even.

“I see,” Hermione said folding her hands in her lap as she sat down in one of the chairs opposite his desk.  “And at what point did you decide that I didn’t need to know but that my partner did?”

 

Harry pressed his fingertips together before bringing them up to his lips thoughtfully.  “I gave Draco that file because he needed the information it contained and I needed him on side with this case,” Harry eventually replied.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her composure despite her growing anger.

“Up until Meirer showed up in Rome with Dolohov we had no idea that the two cases were linked.  We had no information to suggest Meirer had any prior connection to anyone other than Wolfsburg.  Ron was handling the local asset to establish what connections if any Meirer had to Death Eater sympathisers within the Eastern block countries.”  Harry paused, standing and coming round the desk to perch on the edge.  “It was only after you were attacked in Rome that we knew there was any connection.  We couldn’t risk the cover of Ron’s asset so I had no choice but to ask Ron to investigate the Dolohov connection.  That meant sending him back to Moscow.  When Ron returned however, Meirer was dead and the trail went cold.  We had no leads, other than the note Pansy sent.”

 

Hermione frowned.  “So what exactly is Ron doing in Kiev?”

“His asset came good.  It seems Dolohov went underground after Meirer was murdered but Wolfsburg surfaced in Kiev.  That is the lead Ron is following up,” Harry answered.

“You still haven’t told me why you told Draco but kept me in the dark,” Hermione replied, sitting forward.  “Harry, I need to know.”

Harry glanced at Draco over the top of her head, the men sharing a meaningful look.

“I felt guilty for sending you into an ambush and I realised that you need Draco to protect you.”

“By keeping me in the dark?” Hermione had never questioned Harry’s judgement in all their years of friendship, but as she sat trying to process what he had told her she realised a small part of her was.  

“By giving you only the pieces of the puzzle that you needed each step of the way,” he replied, returning to his seat behind the desk.

 

“I received a report from the asset in Copenhagen this morning,” Harry said, glancing at Draco as he pulled a file forward.  “It seems Pansy was spotted boarding a boat in the harbour last week.”

Harry opened the file and removed three photographs as Draco stepped forward.  “Do you have any idea who the woman is that she is photographed with?” he asked, watching Draco carefully as he scrutinised the photographs carefully.

 

For a minute Draco stared at the black and white images, shocked by what he saw.  Despite the glamour, he knew exactly who the woman was.

Swallowing hard, he nodded as he replied.  “Yes; that’s my mother.”

 


End file.
